Those who play with fire
by akat24
Summary: Noah was quite angry with her. But it wasn't her fault – well, not really, if all the mitigating factors were taken into account, as they should've been. Bit of Puckleberry fluff drabble style. Takes place during their senior year.
1. Those who play with fire

**Disclaimer: Glee does not belong to me.**

**A/N: This was written in response to a challenge over at a site called The Rooftop, using a text from Texts From Last Night as a prompt for a drabble/ficlet. Future!fic that takes place senior year.**

* * *

Rachel paced back and forth in her room, only stopping to take an occasional glance at her cell phone. To her complete chagrin, however, it didn't ring, no matter how much she willed it to.

Obviously, Noah was still quite angry with her.

With a sigh, she sat down on her bed. She had only left his house a few hours ago, but she thought that he certainly would've forgiven her by _now_. It wasn't as if it was her fault – well, not really (if all the mitigating factors were taken into account, as they should've been).

Because, yes, perhaps she had gone a _tad_ overboard with her 'decorations'. But when he had told her that his mother was working a double shift and his sister was sleeping over a friend's house, she couldn't help but seize the opportunity to create a romantic evening for the two of them.

And yes, he had once told her that while he would give her candles and rose petals if she so desired it (which she did on occasion, of course), he had also explicitly stated that it would never happen in his room.

At the time, she had thought he was objecting to the way the fragrant smells might compromise his room's masculinity (yes, 'masculinity', because despite dating Noah for quite some time now, she absolutely _refused_ to acknowledge 'badassness' as a real word).

Now, however, she thought that maybe, just _maybe_, he had other concerns as well…

But really, how was she supposed to know that he would react quite so… _vigorously_ when he saw the new little outfit she had picked up from Victoria's Secret? Or that the number of candles that could reside in his somewhat cluttered room was (unreasonably) small? And she certainly had no control over the fact that his mother's overtime fell through.

Rachel sighed again. She didn't know why he just couldn't understand all this. And yet she had already sent him several texts explaining her actions, to no avail.

And then it came to her. Instead of dwelling on the negative, she should have been concentrating on the positive.

She grabbed her phone and quickly sent off another text.

Because really, this whole 'incident' (as she would refuse to refer to it as anything else from this point forward) was actually a stroke of luck. If it had not happened, they undoubtedly would _not_ have heard his mother come in when she did.

Rachel's cheeks burned at the thought.

She prided herself on the relationship she had built with Noah's mother. She could only imagine what the damage would've been if the night had progressed the way Rachel had intended.

Surely Noah would have to recognize this, that the 'incident' was _nothing_ compared to the damage that could've occurred.

She pressed 'send' and waited, confident that this would work.

Sure enough, not two minutes later, her phone buzzed.

Eagerly, Rachel opened his message. Her face fell, however, when she saw _what_ he had written.

**That's one way to look at it on the other hand MY FUCKING BED CAUGHT ON FUCKING FIRE**

She supposed she was happy that he had at least written back. Nevertheless, he was clearly still upset with her, so much so that she wasn't even sure her 'I'm sorry' cookies would be enough to make amends this time.

Then a small smile started to form as she got another idea.

Perhaps they would be better received if she delivered them wearing her new outfit.

* * *

**A/N: Love it? Hate it? Or just plain apathetic? Whichever it is, I'd love to know! Also, I'm keeping this as 'in progress' for now. I already have a few more drabbles written for the Texts Challenge that could be added here, so I'm considering continuing this as sort of a series. **


	2. Just desserts

**A/N: Just as a warning, this is from Puck's POV, so there's swearing ahead. And maybe it's lack of imagination or skill on my part, but I just can't write him without cursing. A lot. **

**And thanks for the reviews, alerts, and favorites! It's awesome to know people liked these little drabbles!**

* * *

Puck scowled as he walked around Brittany's house, getting more and more pissed by the second.

Where the hell was she?

Okay, yeah, the place was packed with people and she was crazy short, but his girl was fucking _loud_. And after she had had a few? It was pretty hard _not_ to notice Rachel fucking Berry.

So why couldn't he find her? Because last he saw, she was well on her way to getting shitfaced with Tina and Mercedes—

He stopped cold in his tracks.

Shit. He was such a fucking idiot sometimes.

He should've just taken his cookies (and her in that awesome lingerie) and left it at that. Because now Rachel was _drunk_. By herself. At a party. With horny drunk guys all around her. And he had no one to blame but himself, because he was the reason she was there, to make up for setting his bed on fire.

And yeah, he knew the whole fire thing wasn't really her fault, but whatever. It was just that his mom was finally letting up on him about his whole juvie stint, and he freaked. Because seriously, the last thing he needed was her thinking that he was some pyro who was gonna burn the whole fucking house down on her (plus, it sucked to wake up every day smelling charred mattress). So sue him.

Besides, it wasn't like asking her to come to a fucking _party_ was torture anyway. But school didn't start until Monday, and she was going to stay home and _study_. He just couldn't allow that shit. (And no, it had nothing to do with the fact that he just wanted to see her or some lame shit like that. Fuck you. It _didn't_.)

And yeah, maybe he had asked her to come because she almost never drank, and drunk Rachel was fun Rachel. As long as she was with _him_.

_Fuck_.

His scowl grew even deeper as he began to push his way through the crowd.

What the fuck was he thinking? Seriously. Because, besides the fact that a few beers made his girl handsier than that dude at the new age shop she had forced him to go to, they were still kinda on the down low, so it wasn't even like they could do anything here once he found her.

And now that he thought about it, just why the fuck weren't they telling people yet anyway (besides the fact that it wasn't their fucking business)? Yeah, he hadn't said anything when they first got together at the beginning of the summer, but that's when neither of them had thought it would last. But here he was, busting into every room and interrupting couples like some kind of perv.

"What crawled up your ass and died, Puckerman?"

Puck turned around to see Santana smirking at him.

"Just bored," he replied with a shrug, careful to let the scowl fall from his face. Santana was a bitch, but he had to give her props. She was a fucking bloodhound when it came to sensing weakness.

He started to walk away, but she put her hand on his chest to stop him and started sniffing his face. He took a step back and glared. "What the fuck, Santana?"

She actually fucking _snarled_ back. Then she looked over his shoulder and aimed her bitchiness at a group of people that was staring at them. "_Somebody_ stole my jello shots. And I _will_ find out who the bastard is," she threatened loudly so everyone could hear. "We clear?"

Puck just rolled his eyes and walked away before she could stop him again. He didn't want any part of that. Bitch was crazy when it came to her alcohol.

After another fifteen minutes of walking in circles, he was ready to start throwing people out on their asses one by one until he found Rachel when he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket.

It had to be her. He'd already tried calling her a few times, but it had gone straight to voicemail. She must've finally turned her phone on. About _fucking_ time.

He yanked his phone out of his pocket and saw that she had sent him a text. He quickly opened it – and groaned when he saw what she had written.

**I'm hiding in a corner. Drunk. With a plate of stolen jello shots. I'm fairly certain people are looking for me or the jello shots.**

Puck hung his head down in defeat.

It was going to be a long fucking night.


	3. He who laughs last

**A/N: Not sure how far to take this, but for now, here's another one! Thank you so much for the reviews, alerts, and favorites!**

* * *

Puck awoke to the sound of his phone beeping. After a quick glance at his alarm clock, he grunted in annoyance. Someone had better be fucking _dead_.

Rubbing a tired hand over his face, he checked the display screen.

Rachel had sent him a text.

He fell back against his pillow and groaned.

How the hell did he find the one girl who actually got up _earlier_ the next day after getting wasted? She was like the fucking Energizer Bunny. (Okay, yeah, that was actually kinda awesome, but every once and while a dude needed a break. Like right now, especially after last night.)

He still didn't know how the hell he had gotten her out of the party, but he did – once he had finally pried Santana's jello shots out of her hands. (_Fuck_, she was strong for someone so tiny.)

Then he got her home safely, which he totally deserved a medal for, because making a drunk Rachel do something she didn't want to do? Not. Fucking. Easy. (Not that he couldn't handle her. He totally could. Shut the fuck up.)

And this was how she thanked him.

Puck stared at the ceiling. Should he read it or just ignore it and go back to sleep?

Part of him wanted to let her know that he wasn't at her beck and call, and that there were fucking _lines_, but part of him was really curious what she had to say this early in the morning.

Fuck it. He grabbed his phone and called her, not even bothering to read the text. He'd just go straight to the source.

She didn't pick up, though, and this seriously pissed him off.

Before he could decide whether to leave an angry voicemail or not, however, another text notification flashed across the screen. With a scowl, he opened it.

**Please, no phone calls, Noah, as I'm certain that the merest sound will have a devastating effect on my well-being right now. Please see my original text and respond. Thank you.**

What the fuck? Was she pissed?

He threw his phone back on his bed in disgust and closed his eyes. It was too early to deal with this shit. She could just wait until he was good and ready.

Her words gnawed at him, though, until he finally grabbed his phone and read the first text she had sent.

**Writing apology letters and leaving them on people's doors for you actions is NOT what I want to be doing at 6am.**

Puck blinked. Was she fucking _kidding_ him?

Then his face split into a grin. She wasn't joking. She just didn't _remember_. This was going to be awesome.

He quickly texted her back.

**H8 2 break it 2 u, baby, but that was all u last nite**

He laid back on his bed and waited. It only took a minute.

**Noah, that's not funny.**

Oh, it so was.

He typed out his next message. This one was really gonna make her lose her shit, even if it was stretching the truth a little.

**u were humming the mission impossible theme as we ran from the cops**

He really wasn't surprised when his phone rang two seconds later, raging hangover or not (and yeah, he took his sweet time answering it, too).

"Noah," she hissed, her voice a hoarse whisper. "That did _not_ happen!"

"You're right, it didn't," he agreed. He grinned when he heard her sigh in relief. "You were singing some lame shit about jets and sharks. Totally not badass enough."

"Noah! You're making that up!" she shrieked. It was immediately followed by a groan. "I have to lie down now, but this conversation isn't over. I simply _can't_ believe that I was the one who— who—"

"Pictures don't lie, baby," he smirked. At her strangled cry, he let out a bark of laughter. "Now get your sweet ass back to bed and don't call me again for at least a few hours."

He quickly hung up and turned his phone to 'silent'. Then he pulled the blankets over himself and closed his eyes, he had shit-eating grin on his face.

Yeah, he knew he'd pay for it later, but for now? Fucking _awesome_.


End file.
